


Give a Bad Boy Enough Rope (He'll Soon Make a Jackass of Himself)

by osmalic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Camping, Community: spn_j2_xmas, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, Episode: s06e09 Clap Your Hands If You Believe, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osmalic/pseuds/osmalic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wesson convinces Dean Smith to go camping so they can hunt either aliens or fairies. Dean Smith is just concerned they're going camping at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give a Bad Boy Enough Rope (He'll Soon Make a Jackass of Himself)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenklu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/gifts).



> Title is from Pinocchio.

Dean Smith doesn't like going camping. It's...well, he can make a list of reasons Why Dean Smith Doesn't Like Camping, but it would be a futile exercise.

He doesn't know how Sam manages to convince him, but it may have involved a new episode of Ghostfacers, some sherry (which Dean purged immediately the next day) and Sam Wesson's distractingly large arms over the back of his couch.

Sam was saying something about a kid who disappeared while camping, and who came back a few years later, unaged and claiming that he was gone for only a few hours. Dean may or may not have absently replied he's been hearing about those kids for years, what do you know? The next thing he knows, Sam is proposing that they should go check it out over the weekend.

"Hold on, how are we going to ask the victims about their experience?" Dean asks right before they go to their first interview. The Ghostfacers never included this.

But Sam dismissively replies, "We can say we're working for a very distant local newspaper."

"That's lying and illegal!" Dean says in shock.

"Relax, I have a blog, so it totally won't be lying."

In the end, they manage to extract information from four victims, one of whom disappeared only a few hours. They determine two common denominators: one, that they were all firstborns (or only children); and two, they were all camping or hiking deep into the woods at the edge of town.

They have lunch together twice in the middle of week, where Sam shows him a newspaper article that he must have grabbed before they came back to Sandover. "Look here," he says to Dean, pointing. "It says there's a lot alien kidnappings in the area!"

"I draw the line at aliens," Dean says, shuddering. "They don't exist anyway."

"We thought ghosts don't exist two months before, and now here we are!" Sam says excitedly. "So obviously we have to go camping."

Okay, so maybe Dean was convinced by Sam's enthusiasm.

Whichever the case is, Dean finds himself meticulously listing down things they may need. He lists down _tent, sleeping bag, air mattress, camping stove (?), Swiss army knife,_ and others on his Blackberry app. He finds the closest store to his apartment and buys all the things they might need. He lingers long and hard before he figures, _what the hell,_ and buys two Nalgenes for the trip. They can always use more glow-in-the-dark bottles.

He thinks he's got everything they're going to need when he walks past a novelty store and finds himself tantalized by a Zippo lighter. "It's ridiculous, I don't even smoke," he mutters to himself even as he walks away with the lighter in his pocket.

They drive out as soon as they clock out on Friday. Sam meets him three corners away from the office, grinning when he gets into the passenger seat of Dean's Prius. "I feel like a kept woman," he says cheerfully.

"You seem to be enjoying it, that's for sure," Dean retorts.

The drive takes them four hours, and by the time they get to the hotel they booked. When they get there, the receptionist gives them a bland eye. "Reservations?"

"Under Sam Wesson," Sam tells him.

The receptionist looks down at his computer. "Two beds?" he asks snootily that Dean interprets as, _Really? Two beds?_

He starts to open his mouth to argue, but Sam puts in quickly, "That's right, sir," and gives the receptionist his most winning smile. 

As soon as they get to their room, Dean starts to make his Master Cleanse while Sam brings out their notes and books. "I was thinking we can start hiking early, stop for lunch, and investigate," Sam announces. "Dude, are you still drinking that crap?"

"I'm trying to lose weight for the charity ball," Dean tells him.

Sam slowly stares at him, eyes half-hooded as if telling Dean he likes what he's seeing. "You're lookin' good to me."

Dean feels himself flush. The guys at the health club gave him the same looks, but he's never reacted before. He clears his throat and gestures to the notes. "So, what are we going to do tomorrow?"

Sam seems happy enough to let it lie.

* * *

They come across a clearing by lunchtime. It's perfect, being near a stream and only a few hours' hike away from civilization. Dean isn't surprised to find that Sam knows how to set up a tent.

"I used to go camping with my dad when I was young," he tells Dean earnestly. "I used to hate it."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Really? You hated camping?"

"Oh, my dad was the big outdoorsy type of person," Sam replies. "I didn't like going out very much when I was younger, but I learned to appreciate it. When he died, I missed going camping."

"I'm sorry," Dean starts to say, but Sam waves it away.

"It was a long time ago."

When they finish putting the fly on the tent, Dean flushes again as Sam surveys the size. "Well," Dean says, clearing his throat, "the tag said it would fit two people."

Sam grins. "That usually means it's only for one, and you can see how we're two big guys." His voice is gentle, but never losing its cheerfulness.

Dean wishes he can sink into the ground. "I didn't know that."

"That's okay, at least we can fit the air mattress and sleeping bags inside." Sam hefts the heavy pack he brought with them. "And we can always get the essentials without bringing the rest inside."

Dean's eyes bug out of their sockets when Sam reveals what he brought. "You brought _guns?"_ he hisses.

"I said I'd bring protection," Sam tells him, looking as if Dean was a virgin in a whorehouse. "And I didn't just bring guns, I also brought knives and salt. And books."

"It's a good thing we weren't searched at the hotel."

Sam looks wounded. "Come on, who'd believe we'd have them? We're just two guys who like going camping."

 _Like that isn't so Brokeback,_ Dean thinks, remembering the skeptic look the receptionist gave them the night before.

They cook their lunch over the gas stove that Dean brought. Sam brings out his laptop ("I have a solar panel just in case," he told Dean the night before.) to discuss what they finished talking about last night.

"So we're down to aliens and fairies," Dean says, chewing his vegetarian beef jerky. ( _"Like real beef!"_ the tag says, but like the tent, Dean really shouldn't have believed it.) "I'm totally going with fairies."

"Fifty says it's aliens," Sam says.

"There was no probing involved," Dean points out. "And we have the woods, which makes it prime fairy area."

"Abductions and strange lights," Sam counters.

"Firstborns."

"Damn, I forgot about that," Sam muses. Then he gets a thoughtful look on his face, regarding Dean for a few beats. "I didn't ask, are you the firstborn?"

"Yeah," Dean says, then pauses. "Are you?"

"No, I had a brother but he died before I was born." Sam pauses again. "Dean, you're not safe."

"C'mon," Dean argues, "you can't believe that _all_ the firstborns are gonna be taken. What about Trudy Bersand? She's a firstborn."

"You don't know if she had an older sibling who died or was given up," Sam argues.

Dean is equally perturbed by the idea, but it would do no good if he panics alongside Sam. He says, "Hey, if anything, we're more prepared than any of those folks. We have guns with iron and salt rocks, iron rods, the works. It'll be fine."

* * *

They explore the woods while there's still light. There are different trails all over the woods, some less used than others. These are the ones they explore.

They come across some fairy rings, which Sam notes in a map while Dean puts it in a GPS. By the time the light is fading, they've plotted more or less thirty fairy rings within the area. "I still don't think it's fairies," Sam tells him. "But the most important thing here is that we should stick together."

"Dude," Dean says, aghast, "I gotta go pee sometime!"

"Well, okay, but make sure you bring the GPS with you," Sam indulges. "Especially since you're the one they might target!"

They talk about work and the people they know, and Dean tells Sam about his pain-in-the-ass baby sister Jo. Sam tells him about his painful breakup with his ex-fiancée, Madison, who only said she was changing too fast for Sam and Sam can't keep up. Dean only snorts when Sam sighs at the end. "Women."

"Yeah, I mean they're great, and there's a lot of things they can do we certainly can't," Sam allows.

"And sometimes do even better," Dean says morosely, remembering how Jo always used to beat him in wrestling.

"And do better," Sam concedes, "but sometimes you just want something else, you know?"

Dean turns to him, caught by the way the camp light catches Sam's profile. "Something...else?" he replies slowly.

Sam turns to him, lazy grin on his face. "Something stronger, more... _similar."_

"Oh." Dean swallows convulsively, watching the way Sam leans back on his elbows. He's gazing at Dean as if he's hungry and Dean's the appetizer, main course, and dessert all rolled into one. Dean swallows again, can't help the faint reply, "Yeah, I've thought about that, too."

"And?" Sam's hand drops over his stomach, creeping towards the bulge in front of his pants.

"I've wondered about it," Dean admits, crawling over Sam before he can help it. He's not ready to say that he's done more than wonder at some points of his life. Like during high school. And college. And three months ago.

Sam reaches out, hand brushing against Dean's face to pull him closer. Dean is pleased to notice Sam's breathing is becoming ragged. "Thought you wanted me to save it for the health club," Sam says gruffly.

"Health clubs got boring after hunting," Dean mutters, and leans over to meet Sam's mouth.

Sam kisses like a man, lips and tongue and the beginnings of a beard that he didn't shave this morning. It burns Dean's jaw, but it turns him on especially when Sam scoots lower and starts licking his jaw, his neck, and his collar bones. Dean straddles Sam's body, one leg pressed between Sam's, closer to make Sam groan against him, pulls him back to press his mouth against Dean's again.

Making out with Sam is a fantasy Dean never let himself imagine before—it's a sexual harassment case waiting to happen—but in the middle of the woods, everything seems plausible.

Sam is practically humping Dean's leg, moaning against Dean's tongue when Dean pulls back. "What—what's wrong?" Sam asks dazedly.

Dean swallows, blinking. Sam looks debauched, his pupils wide and almost black, his hair disheveled. It's almost enough for Dean to discard his thought, but he manages to get out, "Uh—maybe we should take this inside?"

"Who's gonna notice?" Sam argues.

"I don't know...aliens? Fairies?"

Sam pauses. "Right. You're right, I'll just..." His eagerness to get into the tent would make Dean laugh if it doesn't make him fall onto the ground with a slight _oof!_ Sam turns to him with an embarrassed expression. "Geez, sorry, I was just—god, you looked so hot—"

"Get in the tent!" Dean barks, pleased when Sam quickly obeys.

Sam is down to just his boxers by the time Dean comes in. "You're fast," he observes, appreciatively sweeping his eyes over Sam's fine form.

It's Sam's turn to blush. "You're kind of hot, you know," he defends. "And I'm taking this opportunity the best that I can. And anyway, why aren't _you_ undressed?"

"Maybe I want you to do it for me," Dean challenges, his heart beating loudly that it's a wonder Sam can't hear it. He can't believe this brave version of him. It feels right, being so cocky when he's with Sam. Making the guy blush is a right chance, especially with the number of times the guy flirted with him and made Dean blush as well.

Sam welcomes the reply with a grin. "Then come here," he says. The air mattress makes a squeaking sound as Dean straddles him again.

Sam helps Dean take his shirt off, kissing him again on the mouth, then trailing it down to his neck and chest. Sam's hands are large, his fingers dry and callused over Dean's belly, brushing against the top of his jeans. Dean smirks, then moans when Sam bites his neck, rocking his hips against the press of Sam's knee. He can feel the bulge of Sam's cock comfortably pressing against his own leg.

Dean wriggles lower, tries to align himself to Sam's, and groaning appreciatively when their cocks rub against each other. Sam captures his mouth again, moaning when Dean brushes his fingers against his nipples to pinch and play. Dean can feel how Sam's muscles contract under his touch, can feel the hard line of his abs.

"Jesus, you're ripped," Dean mutters in disgust and admiration. Part of it comes from jealousy, but more of it is pure lust. He starts going down, kissing Sam's jaw, his neck, down to lave his tongue on Sam's nipples. Sam groans, then gasps when Dean's hand brushes against his cock.

"Fuck, can you just—" Sam gasps when Dean cups his dick. "Please, Dean—"

"Hand or mouth?" Dean whispers, breath puffing warmth on Sam's hardened nipple.

"Either," Sam grits out, then, "Fuck, your hand is fine."

Dean pushes Sam's briefs lower, eagerly helps when Sam unbuttons Dean's jeans and pushes the material away. When they're fully undressed, Dean puts his hand back on Sam's huge cock. He's pleased to find that his hand fits Sam's cock perfectly, enough to close around the based and still have his thumb swipe on the slit.

Sam's hands trail through his shoulders, tracing his spine to clench his ass. He thrusts up slowly, languidly to meet Dean's movements, his breathing ragged with, "Fuck, yeah, right there— _fuck,_ yes—"

Dean aligns their cocks together, grabs one of Sam's huge hands to close around them both. This makes them both hiss, amplifies the feeling. Slickness makes their movements easier, oozing down to their cocks and hands. Sam's eyelids flutter close as he mutters filthy words to Dean's ears—words that would make him stammer if they were spoken anywhere else except here, in this warm tent in the middle of nowhere.

They rock together, going faster until Dean can feel his balls clenching, and it's only then that he groans, "Sam, I'm—I—"

"Do it," Sam demands, hands going faster, face red. "God, you should see yourself—fuck, so hot—" His orgasm takes Dean by surprise, who thought he would get there faster. Still, it's all forgotten when he comes right after.

Dean collapses on the air mattress right next to Sam, but the tent is small enough that they need to reposition their limbs just to lie comfortably. In the end, Dean has to lie partially in Sam's arms, which makes it easier for Sam to kiss him.

"That was awesome," Sam says dreamily. "And just so you know, I was really coming on to you that time in the elevator."

Dean nuzzles his neck. "I know," he murmurs. "I was just playing hard to get."

"You're a fucking tease," Sam mutters, stroking his back and making Dean arch into his body. "Was I really that creepy?"

"Yup."

"Come on!"

"Just because you're hot doesn't entitle you to tell someone that you're having dreams about them the first time you meet, Sam," Dean tells him matter-of-factly.

Sam laughs. "Well, it all turned out fine in the end. After all we—"

The noise stops their conversation.

They turn to each other with alarmed expressions that quickly turn serious. In a speed that surprises even Dean, they put their jeans and shirts back on. They ignore the wetness over their stomach and legs before they crawl out of the tent.

The forest has taken an eerie turn with the darkness that surrounds them. A weak ray of moonlight penetrates through the canopy of trees, directed right over their tent. They hurriedly put on their boots and grab a weapon each.

"There's no sound," Sam whispers.

Dean strains to listen, but their breathing is the only thing that breaks through the silent rustling of leaves. Other than that, there are no usual crickets, no night birds' cries. A haze has settled into their camp, giving each shrub a ghostly shadow. Dean and Sam stand back to back, trying to peer through the fog.

They both startle at a sudden crunching sound a meters away from the clearing. Dean raises a finger to his lips, then slowly moves to untuck their weapons from their waistline as Sam does the same thing. Then comes a steady thrum, more like a combination of hooves and helicopters at the same time, coming nearer—

And that's when Sam shouts, "Dean, it's not a fog—"

There are _faces_ peering through the fog, Dean realizes. Sam is shouting something, tugging at his arm, but Dean is curious about the way the people are smiling, beckoning him. Their faces are grotesque and beautiful at the same time...

"DEAN!" Sam screams into his ear. "We have to get out of here!"

It's like someone pours cold water all over Dean, and he has no choice but to follow Sam through the wounds. They stumble through the thick vegetable, stopping only to look around if the lights—the _people_ —are following them. Shrubs and thorns tear through their jacket, and there is at least one time Sam gracelessly tumbles over Dean. Dean hardly shoves him off, laughing for some strange reason.

Dean struggles as soon as they crouch behind the shrub. "Did you see the naked lady?" he blurts out as soon as he can breathe. 

Sam turns to him with a horrified expression. "Are you seriously perving on something while we're on a hunt?!" he hisses.

"No," Dean says, hurt. But he continues, "I saw her nipples!"

"I didn't see anything!"

Dean doesn't understand how beautiful, wonderful, _serious_ Sam can't see anything that's right by his nose. Dean helpfully gestures to the hovering naked lady next to Sam's face, which promptly sends the lady flying off with a hiss and Sam stumbling back with a loud, _"Oof!"_

"She's right there—" Dean's wide grin turns comical when the fairy lady whacks his nose. "OW! She— _she hit me!"_

Sam can't help it. He bursts out laughing and buries his face into the crook of Dean's shoulder. "Jesus, okay, fine, you win. I'm not disappointed they're not aliens."

"Oh, haha!" Dean says petulantly. "And I can think of a few ways you can pay off that fifty—"

It's then that the light descends, and—ironically—when they lose consciousness to the sudden darkness.

* * *

Dean wakes up to an older man grinning down at him. "Good eve," he greets.

Dean sits up quickly, then wishes he didn't. The man is wearing a green coat that seems more like moss and brown trousers the color of a tree bark. He looks around cautiously. "Where am I?"

They're still within the forest, or at least a forest that looks like the one they were in. Except this one has brighter leaves, and the moonlight flows through the branches to show each and every flower and shrub. There are faces that peer at them, but they are more curious than menacing.

"You've been invited to partake in a feast," the man whispers conspiratorially. He holds a cane in his left hand, which he holds out to Dean. "Come with me."

"Don't do it, Dean!" someone shouts.

Dean whips around quickly. "S-sam?" he utters, catching the ugly look that overcomes the man's face.

Sam is straining from the tree branches holding him, but he looks fiercely into Dean's direction. "Don't do it, don't take whatever they offer you."

"It is the right of all firstborns to be appreciated," the man snarls. "I am a man of my word!"

"You're not even a man, you're a leprechaun," Sam accuses.

The leprechaun grins, his razor-sharp teeth making Dean wince. "You've caught my folly," he agrees, then his voice turns thunderous. "What magic have you turned to, for you to enter my realm, Sam Winchester?"

 _Winchester?_ Dean's head hurt. He thought Sam's name is Sam Wesson?

But Sam only looks furious. "Don't you touch him, he's not yours," he snarls. "He's _mine."_

"Gee thanks," Dean mutters.

Even the leprechaun looks amused, but he puts a hand on Dean's shoulder, tracing his face. Dean feels his touch as cold as winter, and it wakes him enough to try to look for the weapon that should be tucked into his pants—even as he leans into the leprechaun's touch. "Look, how he responds to me. Out of all the firstborns I chose, he is the one who responds most beautifully."

"What—" Dean says dazedly as long nails scrape his jaw, down to his neck.

Sam struggles against his branches. "I will kill you," he promises, "even if I'm in your realm. I've waited a long time for this, for this chance to avenge him. I'll take you on all by myself—"

"Sam?" Dean murmurs. The quest for his gun is forgotten. "What are you...?"

The leprechaun looks at him curiously, touches his forehead with his lips that makes Sam snarl wordlessly. "Oh... _OH!_ Oh, how beautiful, how delightfully _wicked!_ What have they done to you?"

"Listen to me, Dean," Sam says desperately. "Listen, whatever happens, you should remember that this isn't your fault, that we were coerced..."

Dean doesn't know what they're talking about, but he does know that the leprechaun is making him feel safe, and that having Sam here with him is making it all better. Maybe he can ask for the leprechaun to let Sam go, to let him have him...

"You haven't done anything," he tells Sam earnestly. His hand finally finds the hilt of the gun tucked into his waist. "Maybe we should."

"And maybe you should listen to him, Sam," the leprechaun says mockingly. "Is that how you followed him here without my invitation? You used your abomination? Your new-found strength borne of your demon friend?"

Dean freezes, looking at Sam's devastated face. "What is he talking about?"

"Dean, I...I don't know what happened," Sam tells him miserably. The strain from his limbs is gone; instead he hangs limply from the branches. "I followed you here because it was the only thing to do..."

"Sam?"

The leprechaun hisses, pulls Dean closer to press his face into Dean's hair. Dean snarls and flails, trying to get away, only to stumble back when the leprechaun pushes him. "Goddammit, you nasty old lecher!" Dean yells.

"You've soulbonded!" the leprechaun hisses, then he laughs in disgust. "This is how you entered my realm without my permission? This is how you think you'll defeat Heaven and Hell's armies?"

"This is how I think you'll let us go," Sam says evenly. Dean watches in wonder as Sam's voice becomes menacing, his struggles becoming earnest. The tree branches begin to lose their grip, snapping at times. "And you'll take your filthy hands away from my brother or else—"

"Or what?" the leprechaun taunts, voice now trembling.

"Or I'll blast your head off," Dean says flatly, pulling out his gun and aiming it to the leprechaun. He doesn't wait for him to respond before he pulls the trigger.

The cries of the leprechaun echo throughout the forest and the forest immediately turns darker. The faces snarl, crying out, and Dean pulls the trigger again.

This time, the leprechaun jumps out of the way, his grin turning into an appalling grimace. "Iron. Cute, but not a dealbreaker." He strikes his cane to Dean, who tries to roll away.

Only Sam is quick to defend Dean by lunging towards the cane and kicking the leprechaun's side. "Dean, go!" he shouts.

"How did you—"

"Never mind, just _go!"_ Sam gives him a quick smile and elbows the leprechaun's face. "I'll be right behind you."

Dean stands, a little wobbly and more than still a little enchanted, but Sam's presence makes it better. He doesn't know what they were talking about, and what was Sam talking about his brother? But Dean knows he doesn't want to be anywhere else than with Sam Wesson's side.

"Not leaving without you."

"How touchingly sweet," the leprechaun sneers through bloodied nose.

Dean slams the butt of his gun to the leprechaun's side just as Sam whirls with superhuman speed and lifts him, throwing him to the air. The leprechaun gives out an unearthly shriek just as the rest of fairyland starts to scream.

Dean grabs Sam's hand. "Let's get outta here," he suggests, tugging him to a run.

Sam grins, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "C'mon, firstborn, we have to get to the camp. The portal should be there."

The place must give them inhuman speed and strength because they end up finding the clearing in no time. Dean can see the same hazy fog layer their camp, and he thinks it might be how fairies look at their realm—different and bright, when to humans, it's a little bit darker.

They're almost there when Dean turns to Sam curiously. "Hey, what was that you said about your broth—"

* * *

Dean lands on his stomach and tries not to heave. "Oh god," he pants. "Oh my god."

"Dean?" Sam's worried voice hovers over him.

 _Sam._ It makes bile rise into Dean's throat again, makes him gag. "Oh god," he moans. "What have I done?"

Sam kneels next to him, and Dean knows, _just knows_ Sam is worrying like the worry-wart nerd that he is. "Are you...do you need something?"

"Dude," Dean grits his teeth, "I fucking _drank Master Cleanse for months._ My stomach is craving burgers."

Sam sighs in relief. "Oh, is that all?"

"NO, SAM, THAT IS NOT ALL. I just...I..." And Dean ends up lying on the grass next to their tent. Jesus, the _tent_ where there might be their wet spots and fucking condoms in Dean's pack that they never got around doing. And it might be good they didn't get to use it because _Dean just had sex with his brother._

"Sammy, I'm dying," he moans.

This time, Sam kicks his legs. "Jesus, you're a drama queen. Get up, we have to get out of here." Sam's voice sounds shaky, but he also sounds more determined. He crawls into their tent— _Better him than me,_ Dean thinks forlornly—and deflating the air mattress.

Dean manages to quell his uneasy feeling enough to help Sam pack. Hours must have passed compared to the minutes they were in fairyland, because the sun is beginning to rise. They have another few hours of hiking before they can reach the road.

They're silent while they take to the trail. Sam tries to help him up, but Dean only slaps his hand away irritably. "I'm not a damsel," he mutters.

Sam's lips thin. "No, but you're acting like a bitch."

"Jerk." Dean clips the gas stove to his bag. He resists the urge to check his phone, knowing all the messages there are meaningless. "Fuck."

The entire hike is spent in silence.

* * *

Dean has almost forgotten about the Prius until they get to the edge of the woods. He wordlessly hands the keys over to Sam in a pout. "You drive," he starts, then gasps when Sam grabs him hand to pulls him closer.

"Listen," Sam says conversationally, "we're going to talk about this when we get back to the hotel. Not the motel we're used to, but to the hotel that Sam Wesson booked for both of us."

"We still have to get our car," Dean says.

"We'll do that," Sam tells him, his eyes hard. "But you're going to listen to me now. Didn't you hear what the leprechaun said?"

"What about it?" Dean asks guardedly.

"We've soulbonded." Sam's grip on Dean's wrist tightens, and he pulls Dean closer to him. It's only normal for Dean—normal even before—to lean closer, to grab his brother's shoulders before he stumbles. Only this time, Sam's arms wrap around his waist to hold him there. _"Soulbonded,"_ he breathes into Dean's ear. "We might be able to defeat Heaven and Hell this way."

"So you're saying gay incest can save the day?" Dean asks doubtfully. "Really, Sam?"

"Why not?" Sam argues. "It's the only card we have. The best purity that might stop Lucifer."

"And the ultimate sin that might stop angels?" Dean asks skeptically, but his fingers are already threading through Sam's hair, his neck, pulling him closer. "Doesn't it absolve us if we didn't know about it?"

"I know, and I still want," Sam tells him, leaning against Dean's forehead. "I've wanted for years. Before this, before I left, it was _you."_

Dean lets out a sigh, knowing that this is _it._ A confession, more or less the same Dean's would be. He closes his eyes. "Then let's make it consensual," he replies gruffly, and tips his head to kiss Sam.

The kiss is different from before, less hurried but more knowing. Sam kisses like a Winchester now, and Dean knows exactly who he's kissing: the one who always had his back, the one who defied his words to bring him back, the one who choose to become a demon in order to protect him, the one Dean has to protect back.

And he's all Dean's now.

On the highway behind them, a car passes by with a screeching honk. "Get a room!" someone yells.

Dean breaks off the kiss and wonders at the glint in Sam's eyes. He wonders if it's the same in his.

Dean asks mischievously, "Hey, what did you say about that hotel you booked?"

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Sam and Dean have to camp out in the woods because [insert hunting reason], which they haven't done since pre-Stanford. It dredges up a lot of ~feelings.~ I'll take any camping mishaps the author wants to throw in as well, didn't pack a rain fly for the tent, forgot a can opener, whatever, and the boys figuring out ways to make it work together." and "SOULBONDING! Any way, any how." I didn't really follow the prompt, but I hope I came pretty close.


End file.
